


Back from the Fall

by AcademicTree



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcademicTree/pseuds/AcademicTree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Reichenbach, When Sherlock returned from his 'fall' it's safe to say John had mixed feelings. Possibly implied Johnlock? I originally was going to make this a full length Johnlock fic, but lost inspiration so it's just this short little thing now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back from the Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my wonderful beta Princess FunkWalk on fanfiction.net!

"There's something you wanted to say, and didn't say it." It wasn't a question. John couldn't work out why this statement had made him think so much – Ella had made assumptions like this before but this one was different somehow. It had been over a month and the comment was still constantly on his mind. She was almost always right, though not with the same fascinating consistency as Sherlock... John suddenly found himself missing Sherlock; the way he revelled in an almost childlike manner with interesting cases, the way he could sit in his chair opposite John's for hours, the way he sometimes looked at John...

This thought brought John back to the real world-ish. Nothing had seemed real since 'The Fall'. John had simply drifted along, declining any help offered to him, even Lestrade's offer of a place to stay. He especially declined Mycroft's invitation to meet at the Diogenes Club. Although it was probably irrational, John still partly blamed Mycroft for Sherlock's death. He refused to believe that the so-called Ice Man was so cold as to knowingly destroy his own brother's career and therefore life. This was where the problem lay, though. Although Mycroft may not have done any of this knowingly, he did massively contribute to Sherlock's death.

John did not believe for one minute that his dearest friend was a fraud, but he had somewhat resigned himself to the fact that Sherlock was never coming back. He had visited the grave a few times but it had brought back too many painful memories. Also, John often got the feeling that he was being watched when he visited, which made him feel very uncomfortable. He tended to avoid the cemetery as much as possible, as he was definitely one to trust his instincts, a quality which had come in very handy in Afghanistan all those months ago. Thinking of the war brought back the all too familiar twinge in his leg; John's limp had returned after Sherlock's death. Ella had said it was now simply an issue of mind over matter – they both knew that the limp was psychosomatic – but it wasn't as easy as that. John was a determined man, though, so he was planning on fighting the hobble every step of the way, literally! In an attempt to get on with his new life, John had thrown himself into his work. He was there all day, often spending evenings doing extra work and only leaving late at night. Eventually, it became so much that Sarah had to stop paying John overtime – the hospital couldn't afford to pay him to work from 8am until 10pm!

_Suddenly, John found himself outside St Bart's hospital, phone in hand, watching helplessly as his best friend threw himself off the towering building. He felt utterly powerless and could do nothing but stare at the plunging figure, wishing this was a dream but knowing it was all too real. Time seemed to slow down and John felt fear and terror rip through him; he knew that any second now his best friend, his only true friend, would be gone from his life. After what seemed like an eternity of dread, Sherlock hit the floor. John felt the force of the impact shudder through his own body and started running towards his dearest companion, colleague and partner. When he reached the body (after a brief encounter with a stupid man on a bike) John's heart sank. Sherlock was very much dead._

John came back to reality abruptly, feeling sick to his stomach. He forced himself to think back to that fateful day. When John had tried to find a pulse, he had thought he felt a movement in his best friend's wrist, but was pushed away before he could be sure. He had since then dismissed the faint beat as wishful thinking. He struggled to think about that awful day and there was no point in holding out false hope – Sherlock had been pronounced dead, the funeral had been held, he was never coming back. All this thinking of Sherlock also brought back memories of Mrs Hudson. John had barely spoken to her since The Incident; he couldn't bear the idea of going to the flat, and was struggling to find the motivation to meet at any nearby cafés. Ella had encouraged him to talk to Mrs Hudson about their memories of Sherlock, though. John pulled himself together, called the older woman, and got ready to catch a taxi to the agreed café.

Ten minutes later, John found himself recalling the countless times he had hailed cabs that Sherlock had taken 'to think'. The thought lingered in his mind until John could swear he could smell Sherlock's aftershave. He dismissed the idea from his mind and, still slightly reeling from his vivid flashback, paid the driver and went into the café. Greeting Mrs Hudson, John was preparing himself for the barrage of tears that he thought would be inevitable; Mrs Hudson was a strong woman, but they had hardly spoken since Sherlock's funeral. John rarely went back to 221B and, when he did, it was late at night when he knew he wouldn't have to talk to her. It wasn't that John meant to be mean, but he didn't feel that he could cope with more reminders of his most cherished friend. Expecting the worst, John sat down. "Hi, Mrs Hudson, how are you holding up?"

"I've been better, dear, but there's not much point in dwelling on the past! I ordered tea for you, I hope that's okay." She replied. John was shocked – he had expected a much more emotional response! He barely managed to nod his head, but forced himself to swallow down his surprise and was about to mumble something when Mrs Hudson moved in and spoke again, quietly. "You'll be okay, John." He was going to argue when he thought he saw a familiar looking man walk into the café. A tall, pale, familiar looking man with dark curly hair. Then the guy turned around.

It was Sherlock.

* * *

 

Sherlock was back.

John's shock was quickly replaced by fury.

He clenched his fists, gritted his teeth and just felt his whole body tighten up. He couldn't work out why he felt so tense! So many questions were going around his head; why had Sherlock faked his death, how had Sherlock faked his death, why had he waited so long to come back, why had he even come back, was this really Sherlock? All of this was crowding John's brain so he couldn't form any words – his mouth was moving but nothing was coming out. Feeling sick, John closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing deeply, leaning his head back on the wall. After a while he realised that Mrs Hudson was still with him and probably had no clue what was going on. He took a few more calming breaths and opened his eyes to find a pair of eyes staring back at him. A pair of beautiful, light blue eyes. Sherlock's eyes. They looked concerned, an expression John had rarely seen reflected in the usually emotionless orbs.

"You-you're supposed to be dead!" All John could do was stammer. Sherlock just looked at him oddly.

"Use your brain, John. It is quite obvious that I am very much alive. I know that you don't have a superior mind, but this is a very simple concept to understand." Mrs Hudson shot Sherlock a look. "I can see that you may have some questions to ask me. Do you want to go home? Mrs Hudson has tidied the flat." John nodded, still slightly in shock.

They all arrived home together but Mrs Hudson tactfully slipped off into her flat, leaving John and Sherlock to 'have a nice chat'. John knew it would not be 'nice'. He wanted so many explanations from his friend, and wasn't sure that Sherlock would be willing to provide the answers. "How did you fake your death? Why did you fake your death? Why didn't you tell me? Where is Moriarty? Are you safe? Why couldn't you have just  _bloody_  talked to me?!" All the questions came out in one long stream that anyone less extraordinary than Sherlock would have probably found difficult to understand. Knowing that Sherlock understood, John couldn't grasp why he was taking so long to reply. This made him even angrier! "Sherlock, are you even listening to me? I've gone for months thinking that you were dead and now I'm greeted with  _silence_?!" He heard his voice catch on that last word. It was almost too much to have Sherlock back but still seeming so cold and cut off from John. This was when John properly looked at Sherlock. His features looked sunken, his eyes dulled and his skin seemed paler than usual. It suddenly hit him – Sherlock must have been bored when he was pretending to be dead, and everyone knew what Sherlock did when he was bored. "You have not-" John started to say but he felt an intense mixture of fear and anger welling up inside him which froze his words where they were in his body. The bubble of anger burst abruptly. "How COULD you?" John exploded. "You manage to cheat death - _which is something I will be asking about later_ \- and then you go and practically  _kill yourself_  anyway! Do you NEVER think of the consequences of your actions? What about your family? Your friends? What about me, Sherlock?"

That last question came out as a whisper. John hadn't meant for it to come out at all – he was a strong army doctor, not a weak teenage girl! Suddenly, John was exhausted. Spending all his energy on missing Sherlock had left John an emotionally broken for his return. He sat down on his chair, gesturing for Sherlock to sit on the other. "Right, I need some answers, Sherlock." The taller man bowed his head and John was momentarily stunned at his gracefulness. He felt odd recognising Sherlock's elegance, so made up for it by speaking incredibly brusquely. "But we're both tired so let's go to bed for now. Tomorrow I'll take the day off work and I will expect you to tell me everything I want to know." Sherlock nodded mutely and John was, again, taken aback by how submissive he was. Something was wrong and tomorrow John would find out what. For now, though, he needed to make sure that Sherlock was safe and well. Escorting Sherlock to bed, John softly whispered "I'm glad you're back. I missed you," and John could swear he heard his dearest friend murmur something in response.


End file.
